


Winin' and Dinin' the Sheriff (Without the Wine)

by SmileAndASong



Category: Marvel, Marvel 1872, Marvel Secret Wars Battleworlds
Genre: 1872 (Marvel), Country & Western, First Dates, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmileAndASong/pseuds/SmileAndASong
Summary: In one night, Tony is finally going to do something that he’s wanted to for a long time. And he'll be something he hasn’t been in an even longer time.It’s a mighty tall order, but if it wins him the heart of the dashing Sheriff Rogers, it’ll be worth it.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85
Collections: 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange





	Winin' and Dinin' the Sheriff (Without the Wine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dirigibleplumbing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/gifts).



> This fic was written for dirigibleplumbing for the 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday exchange, focusing on the request for '1872 Steve and Tony go on a dinner date'. I also tried to include elements/themes of some of the other requested 1872 prompts, such as 'Class differences between Steve and Tony', as well as one other prompt toward the end of the pic that I want to keep as a surprise ;)
> 
> Apologies if there are any time period inaccuracies regarding 19th century dining etiquette and restaurants! I tried my best to do what research I could, but eh, this is based on a comic about a world created by Doctor Doom, so anything is possible!
> 
> Fic is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read! I hope everyone enjoys this fic, but especially you, dirigibleplumbing! I had a lot of fun creating this fic for you :)

“...I think you’re the first person that’s ever got himself locked in the pillory without actually breakin’ the law, Stark,” Steve said, kneeling down so he was eye level with Tony, an incredulous look on his face. “Do I even wanna ask how you did it?”

Tony shrugged his shoulders as much as the barracks would allow. “Lost my footing and fell into it.” 

Steve sighed, shaking his head and reaching for the key ring hanging off his belt. “What are the odds of that?” 

Had Tony not just downed an entire flask of whiskey, he might’ve been able to calculate the exact odds. Not that there wasn’t much to find out in the first place. He knew exactly how he’d gotten himself into this pickle, and for once, it wasn’t the fault of his desire for a drink.

It had been close to two days since he last saw Sheriff Rogers. Desperate times called for desperate measures. 

He very well could have swung by the Sheriff’s office for a visit, asked him about how his investigating of the not so mysterious lynchings was going, maybe even made some polite conversation while he stared into those pretty blue eyes. 

Or he could lock himself in the pillory, right in the middle of town, and further tarnish what was left of his fleeting reputation.

Had Tony not just downed an entire flask of whiskey, he might’ve been clever enough to choose the former.

Finding the necessary key on the ring, Steve turned it into the lock and released Tony from the restraints. “Never a dull moment with you, Stark.”

Tony stood upright, rubbing at his now slightly reddened wrists. “I like to keep your days interestin’ in such a small uneventful town, Sheriff. Someone’s gotta!” He chirped, grinning up at Steve. “I suppose I owe you a proper thanks for always coming to my rescue like this. What say we get a drink to celebrate your noble heroism?”

“...I think you’ve had _more_ than enough to drink today,” Steve tsked, his brows furrowing together. “If you really wanna pay me a proper thanks, you’ll stay out of trouble and get a proper meal in you. Lord knows you don’t eat enough for how much you drink.”

“Now there’s an idea!” Tony exclaimed. “How’s about I take you out for a nice dinner? Tonight if you’ve got the time! And I can't get into any trouble if you're there to stop me!”

Steve shot Tony a dubious look, folding his arms against his chest. “...and you’ll leave the bottle _and_ the flask behind?”

“You have my word,” Tony blurted out before his drunken brain could properly properly register what he’d promised.

“Alright, looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal,” Steve said, grinning a little. “How's about sundown at the Atlas, then?”

“Sundown at the Atlas it is!” Tony reached into his inner pocket and procured his flask. Steve shot him a disapproving look. “...It’s not sundown yet.” He brought it to his lips, frowning when nothing came out. “And as luck would have it, it’s empty. How disappointing.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Steve said, clapping a hand on Tony’s shoulder as he walked past him. “And let’s hope that you actually remember what you agreed to come sundown I'll see you then.”

XXXXX

Come sundown, Tony did, in fact, remember everything perfectly. And as promised, he was sober, meaning that he could now properly realize what he had agreed to.

He was going to have dinner with Sheriff Rogers.

He was going to have dinner _sober_ with Sheriff Rogers.

For most people, this would be an easy feat, but Tony couldn’t recall the last time he’d been sober in public, nor could he remember the last time he’d been out for a proper meal with someone. God, it must’ve have been with Miss Potts during the war. Well over a decade ago. And now here he was about to do the two of them together -- with Steve! Has he ever been sober around Steve? He didn’t think so. What if he went and said something stupid or foolish? He couldn’t blame it on too much whiskey! And saying one wrong thing could cost him everything he had with Steve. 

The evening _had_ to be perfect.

At least he was off to a pretty good start. He managed to refrain from opening any bottles — despite being sorely tempted to do so — and he dug out a nice suit from the deep crevices of his cellar. True to his recollection, he was pretty sure this was the exact suit he wore on that dinner date with Miss Potts, but it still looked nice. Slightly dusty and baggy, but nice nonetheless. Maybe Steve was right, maybe he did need to eat more.

After fussing with his appearance for a good hour or so, he headed down to the restaurant. He caught sight of Steve as he approached, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Upon seeing Tony, Steve stood upright and grinned.

“Well I’ll be damned, you remembered!” Steve looked Tony over, a confused look on his face. “At least I _think_ you remembered. We goin’ to a fancy ball or something?”

Tony mirrored Steve’s bewildered expression. He looked down at his own suit and then at Steve, who was clad in his usual vest and old pants combination. “I dressed for dinner, isn’t that what we’re doing here?”

“We certainly are,” Steve said. “I reckon we just have different definitions of ‘dressing for dinner’.”

Tony blushed, taking off his top hat and hiding it behind his back. So much for off to a good start. 

“No need to be embarrassed, Stark, you clean up nice,” Steve encouraged, turning to open the door to the restaurant. “Shall we?”

A part of Tony desperately wanted to say ‘no’ and run off, save himself from any inevitable embarrassment, but he nodded and reluctantly stepped inside.  
The Atlas was the nicest restaurant in Timely. Granted, it was the only restaurant in Timely, so it didn’t exactly have competition. It was new, only added to the humble town a few years prior, created to meet the unexpected demand that came about when gold was discovered about fifty miles west. Timely, as a result, became a frequent stop for many looking to get rich quick. And with no real restaurant in town, one had to be added to meet the new need. While the gold and the rush to get to it had long since dried up, the Atlas remained. A shadow of its former heyday, but it was still there when the people of Timely were wanting a splurge or in need of a celebration.  
Inside the was practically empty, save for a server who was talking with the chef, and one table occupied by Carol Danvers and her feminists, seemingly celebrating whatever latest triumph they had over the chauvinistic males of the town. Carol didn’t seem to notice -- or didn’t care to notice -- Tony and Steve as they entered. 

The lone server ceased his conversation and approached Tony and Steve, greeting them with a smile that was a little too enthusiastic. It was pretty common for the Atlas to go days without having a customer, so the man was probably elated to have not one table to serve, but two!  
“Right this way, gentlemen, only the finest table for our own Sheriff and our own…uh, Mr. Stark,” The server said, leading them to a candle-lit table in the back corner, nice and cozy and private. Not that privacy was hard to come by in this place.

Steve thanked the server and took his seat, frowning as he looked down at the table. “I think you gave us too much silverware, partner,” Steve said, staring at the utensils on his side as if they’d done something to offend him. “It’s only the two of us dining tonight.”

“Those are all for you,” Tony chimed in before the server could explain. He pointed at the largest fork. “This one right here is your dinner fork. It’s for your meats and whatnot. That smaller one is your dessert fork. The larger knife is for steak, and the one on the small plate is for butter. And regarding spoons, this one is for soups--” Tony leaned over and pointed at it. “--and the other one is for tea.”

The server’s eyes widened and he blinked slowly. “I...couldn’t have explained it better myself.” It was almost like he couldn’t fathom the town drunk knowing so much about formal table settings. Or even just the fact that Tony was capable of speaking in a coherent, non-slurred fashion. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he briefly described of what today’s special would be; Tony and Steve both agreed to it.

“And can I interest either of you men in a drink?” The server asked, looking right at Tony ostentatiously. 

“Two sarsaparillas,” Steve answered immediately. The server nodded and walked away.

“Don’t trust me not to order my own drink?” Tony asked, a smug grin on his face.

“I just don’t want you tempted,” Steve mumbled, leaning back and folding his arms. “Temptation is a nasty thing for a feller who’s an addict.”

Tony’s grin morphed into a frown and he bit his lip, shifting a little his seat. It was true, of course, but the word ‘addict’ just sounded so...harsh. Far worse than any insult he’s been called over the years — and he’s been called _plenty_ of nasty names — but maybe that had to do with the person saying it and the underlying hurt in the way he said it.

Tony took a big gulp of his sarsaparilla once the waiter brought it over, trying to drown out the dry lump that had formed in the back of his throat.

Steve stared at his own glass, drumming his fingers against the side of it. “You sure do know an awful lot about silverware,” He said, breaking the brief and slightly uncomfortable silence. “And with your fancy dress, makes me think that dinin’ like this is relatively common for you.”

“Well, once upon a time it was,” Tony replied. “Many years ago, I used to be--” 

_Sober_ , was what he thought to himself. “--uh, fancy.” Was what he went with instead. 

“Fancy, huh?” Steve said, raising a brow. “And what made you stop being so ‘fancy’?”

Tony clenched his jaw. “You need money to be fancy, and I lost most of what I had after the war when I decided…” Tony paused, his gaze shifting down to one of the many forks on the table. “...that I didn’t want to be fancy anymore.”

He wasn’t sure how much exactly Steve knew about his past history with producing and designing weapons -- and the unfortunate aftermath of said weapons being used in practice. But the look Steve was giving suggested understanding and compassion, his face warm and illuminated by the low, warm light of the candle between them.

“War changes a lot of people. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse,” Steve said softly. “I'm just please it changed you for the better.”

Tony scoffed. “I’d hardly call this a change for the better. Do you not recall how I locked myself in the pillory this afternoon?”

“You seriously expect me to believe that you got in there by pure accident?”

“I did!”

“Come on, Tony, even if you’re not as ‘fancy’ as you used to be, I know you’re not as dumb as you let on. I reckon you’re the smartest feller this side of the Mississippi. Even if you do hit the bottle too hard for my likin',” Steve said earnestly, and Tony’s cheeks flushed red. “So tell me the truth -- why’d you _really_ lock yourself up today?”

Tony sighed; he wanted to lie, but even the idea of doing so just felt wrong. Not with how Steve was wearing his heart on his sleeve. Not with how Steve wanted him just like this -- open, ‘fancy’, and most of all, honest. He hadn’t been any of the three in so long, and here he was trying to do it all at once. It was a tall order, but for Steve, he was willing to try. For the first time since god knows when, he _wanted_ to try.

“Well, it'd been well over a day since I saw you and, uh, that’s just far too long if you ask me,” Tony rambled quickly, hoping that maybe Steve won’t be able to hear him and his shame if he talked fast. “You always come when I get myself in trouble, so I went ahead and found some. And well, you did.”

“Really?” Steve asked, sitting more upright. “You do it just for my attention? I…didn’t think I was worth such a fuss.”

“‘Course you are,” Tony insisted. “I’d stay in a jail cell all day if it mean I got to be near you.”

Steve’s cheeks turned a little pink, and Tony immediately panicked. Was that too bold? It felt a little too strong, maybe more than Steve was bargaining for tonight. Chewing down on his lower lip, Tony opened his mouth to correct his little blunder, but stopped when he saw Steve’s lips curl up into a smile. It was big, bright, easily the most genuine smile Tony had ever seen on him.

And just like the shiny star pinned to his vest, he wore it well. 

“You do know that can be considered abuse of the Sheriff’s protection, don’t you?” Steve chastised.

“To some, I reckon,” Tony said, shrugging his shoulders. “You gonna throw me in jail and throw away the key?” 

“No, well, at least not until we have dessert. It’d be a shame to waste a perfectly good slice of pie.” Steve chuckled, his eyes locking onto Tony’s. “I’m glad you agreed to come out tonight, Tony. And I’m especially glad that I got to see this side of you, the ‘fancy’ one. He’s a nice feller, and I hope I get to see more of him.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to blush. His cheeks turned crimson and his lips curled into a small smile. “Stick around long enough and you just might,” Tony said, sounding assured and confident, like he was making a promise. 

It wasn’t one that he was certain he could keep, because he was still sipping his sarsaparilla and wishing it whiskey, but as he looked into those hopeful blue eyes, he found a desire even more worthwhile.

“Well, that’s easy to do, seeing as he’s quite the charmer,” Steve said, leaning in a bit closer. “And I bet he’s a great singer, too.”

“Trust me, he sounds the same, and he’s hardly great. Mediocre, at best,” Tony said, also leaning in and further closing the gap between them. Probably not the smartest thing to do in a small town like Timely where nothing was secret, but he couldn’t help himself. It was so relaxed in the cozy, quiet restaurant. Even quieter now that the only other patrons -- Carol and the feminists -- were walking out the door.

It was just the two of them.

Tony rested his jaw on his palm, smiling a little wider. “Y’know, for all the times you’ve heard me singin’, you’ve never extended me the same courtesy. And frankly, Sheriff, I’m offended.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “Trust me, if I start yammerin’ with these ol’ pipes, people’ll think they slaughter the animals here, too.”

Tony huffed. “Well that’s hardly fair, seeing as I came as promised for you. So the _least_ you can do is serenade me with a pretty little number.”

Steve inhaled deeply. “Alright, fine, fair is fair. But just a quick one, and don’t you go tellin’ no one about this, ya hear?”

Tony placed his hand over his heart. “On my honor.” He leaned back, folding his arms and grinning from ear to ear. For some time now, he was convinced that fun could only be found in the bottom of the bottle, but here he was smiling, laughing, and having the time of his life. 

He didn’t think anything could spoil this evening.

“Hands in the air, nobody move!”

Well, except that.

In the doorway of the restaurant were four masked men, all armed and with their guns pointed out. Anyone this side of the Mississippi knew who they were, thanks to countless wanted posters in the area — The Wrecking Crew. And they’d been quite busy ‘wrecking’ and robbing every city they visited. It was inevitable that they’d find their way to Timely sooner than later.

Tony just wished that it could’ve been literally _any_ other night.

Still, he obliged to their demands, raising his hands above his head. Steve did the same, but not without a stubborn scowl on his face and a curious look in his eye. Tony knew that look well; he was plotting something.

“Alright now, we’re gonna make this nice and easy for all of--” The tall one in a purple mask began before pausing, his eyes scanning the near empty restaurant. “--seriously? _This_ is where all the money is?” He turned to his cohort in the red mask. “I thought you scoped the place out!”

“I did, Wrecker!” The red-masked man replied. “This was the nicest building in this dump of a town, so I figured a bunch of rich folks would be here!” He pointed at Tony. “Like that guy! Look at that fancy pants suit he’s got on! I reckon he’s got more money in his pockets than in the entire last bank we robbed!”

“For your sake, he better.” The purple-masked man -- Wrecker -- turned to his other two lackeys, nudging them forward. “Go on now, get ‘im.”

The two lackeys nodded, moving toward Tony and keeping their guns raised. “Cough up the loot, money bags, whatever you got.”

Slowly, Tony lowered one of his hands and reached into his inner pocket for what little money he had on him. Just enough to cover dinner for two. But as he was about to grab a hold of the small coin sack, Steve reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t you give them one single cent, Tony,” Steve ordered, his voice sharp. 

The bigger of the two lackeys snickered. “Are you as dumb as you look, boy? We’re the ones with the guns here!”

“You sure about that?” Steve asked, and in the blink of an eye, he was on his feet and grabbed the barrel of the robber’s gun. He snatched it, flipping it over in his palm and aiming it at the robber's head. 

Upon realizing he’d been unarmed, the robber panicked and threw his hands up. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

“Tony, get under the table, now!” Steve ordered, and Tony didn't have to be told twice. He jumped out of his seat and under the table, catching the attention of the smaller of the two lackeys. The man smirked, cocking his gun and pointing it right at Tony. 

Tony gulped, shutting his eyes and helplessly bracing for the shot. 

_Bang!_

Tony heard the gunshot, but strangely enough he felt no pain. He didn’t feel anything at all. Opening his eyes, Tony looked up to see a small stream of smoke coming from Steve’s gun and the robber clutching his now bloody hand, his own gun on the floor by Steve’s feet. 

“Yowch!” The smaller lackey cried out, collapsing to his knees

Tony stared in sheer awe, his heart pounding against his chest. Good lord, Steve just shot a man for him! It wasn’t the first time he’d done done it -- and it certainly wouldn’t be the last -- but damn, it never got old.

“For cryin’ out loud, Thunderball, get up!” Wrecker ordered. “And Bulldozer, you coward, get your damn gun back from this amateur slinger!”

“I think you must be mistaken.” Steve clenched his fist and swiftly punched Bulldozer, knocking him to the ground beside Thunderball. “Because I am _no_ amateur.” 

Wrecker growled, turning to his last standing lackey. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get him already!”

Aiming their guns, they both fired countless shots at him. Glass shattered and bullets bounced off the walls, but none landing on their intended target. Steve boldly -- and somewhat stupidly -- charged right at them, in true Sheriff Rogers fashion. He swiftly dodged each bullet that came his way, and once in a close enough range, he aimed not for their heads but for their knees, landing both shots with only two bullets. An amateur slinger, he was not.

“Gah!” Wrecker cried and fell to the ground, his gun skidding across the wooden floor. “Piledriver, this is all your fault! You went and led us right to the damn town Sheriff!”

“How was I supposed to know he’d be here?” Piledriver complained as Steve effortlessly took his gun out of his hand and picked up Wrecker’s, too. “And that he’d be crazy enough to take all four of us on by himself!”

“Take you on and win,” Steve corrected, lifting the not so fearless leader of the crew up and restraining his arms behind his back. “Looks like your days of ‘wrecking’ have come to an end, partner. And nobody else move! I’ll be back for the rest of you.”

“Like we even can move!” Thunderball complained as he clutched his bloody hand, Bulldozer still lying unconscious beside him.

Grabbing the cuffs from his belt, Steve clicked them over the Wrecker’s wrists and escorted him out of the restaurant. He left the incapacitated three behind, at least for now, but he also lef Tony, who was still cowering under the table.

As Tony watched Steve leave, the shock and fear dissipated, replaced with a feeling of sadness. He didn’t get it. He should be rejoicing. Steve had saved him! Steve had shot three men and knocked another out to defend him, risked his life to keep Tony safe. Yet, here was, lamenting the loss of the nicest evening he’d had in some time.

So much for making it to pie. Or even to soup.

Sighing, Tony looked over to the table across the way where their server was still hiding and shaking.

“Check, please.”

XXXXX

Tony had wanted to stay and wait up for Steve, but the chef, understandably so, insisted that they vacate the space and company of three notorious bandits. And really, Tony couldn’t argue with that.

He went home with the intention of going right to sleep, but instead, he spent the better portion of the night tossing and turning in bed. 

After what felt like an eternity of trying, he opened his eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling. He just couldn’t relax. Surprisingly, it wasn't the lack of alcohol coursing through him that was keeping him up. He wasn't even thinking about booze for the first time in god knows how long. No, his restless mind was still fixated on the evening and the dinner. More specifically, how he had been robbed tonight. Not of money, no, the Wrecking Crew didn’t get a single cent from him, but they did manage to take something far more precious — the chance to hear Steve sing! It was incredibly dramatic and silly, but Tony couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He heaved out a heavy sigh, burrowing his face into his pillow. How would it sound, he wondered to himself, closing his eyes and trying to envision it.

“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are callin'...”

Yes, yes, just like that! Strong, but with that subtle gentleness to it. Absolute perfection, much like the man himself.

Wait a minute.

"From glen to glen, and down the mountain side."

Tony sat upright, blinking slowly a few times and looking to his window. Could it be? 

"The summer's gone, and all the roses are fallin'..."

Throwing the covers aside, Tony clamored to his feet and scurried across the room. He pulled back the curtains and his breath hitched, looking down to see his desired fantasy, now a beautiful reality.

Standing outside his window was Sheriff Rogers -- _serenading him_!

"It's you, it's you must go and I must bide."

Now Steve wasn’t exactly a masterful showman; his singing was quite pitchy, and he really couldn’t hold a tune at all. But he was looking up at Tony with that big, genuine smile of his, that hopeful little spark in his eyes. It was more than enough to get Tony’s heart and legs racing as he ran down the stairs to join him.

Once outside, Tony didn’t think twice about rushing into Steve’s arms, embracing him tightly.

“...oh Danny boy, I love you so,” Steve sang softly in Tony’s ear, concluding his little song. He rested his arms around Tony’s waist, pulling back to look at him. “Told you I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“You were amazing,” Tony insisted. “I’m just glad you held your end of the bargain.”

“Not even a swarm of bullets or the entire Wrecking Crew could keep me from breaking it. And you did hold your end of our deal today, so it’s like you said, it’s the least I can do,” Steve said, his voice sweet and sincere. “Even if you do wrongfully manipulate the time of your town’s law enforcement.”

Tony breathed out a laugh. “Hey now, this time you came on your own accord.” He tightened his hold around Steve’s frame, nestling his face against his shoulder. “Any chance I can convince you to sing another song for me?”

“No,” Steve responded immediately, and Tony huffed in disappointment. “But maybe there’s something else I can do for ya that’s just as good? Somethin' long overdue?”

Tony pulled back, looking up at Steve with a knowing smirk. “Oh? Well, why don’t you show me what you got, partner.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Steve took a gentle hold of Tony’s chin and tilted his head upward. He leaned in, colliding their lips together in a soft, sweet kiss, which Tony gleefully returned.

And true to his word, Steve’s kissing was far better than his singing.


End file.
